


Sherlock's Psyche

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Fluff, Honeymoon, Intercrural Sex, Oral Sex, Other, SCIENCE!, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sex while one character is missing their body but not their immagination, Shower Sex, Two tastes that go great together, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-07 07:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: As Sherlock and John enjoy their honeymoon while surveying Draconis nebula, a mysterious alien steals Sherlock's psyche. The crew of the Bakerstreet must race against the clock to discover where they have gone and restore Sherlock's psyche before his body dies without it.John is 26. He and Sherlock have been married for less than six months. John and Sherlock have known each other for about five and a half years.





	1. Other POV

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, it's Spock's Brain. Possibly one of the most ridiculous stories of the original series, and which I'm very fond of. That may have something to do with crossing it in my head with Anne McCaffrey's "Ship Who Sang".  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Spock%27s_Brain_(episode)
> 
> Or you know, someone stole Spock's brain and he survived.

The lights of the Controller lost red when Kara was small. No red and it was cold. When blue went away, water smelled bad. Made some Eymorg sick drinking it. But what could they do? Water was water. When the last light dimmed, the Eymorg gathered around Kara.

Luma said, "Controller dying."

Kara rubbed the snot dripping from her nose. She knew that. She didn't know much, but the Controller's lights been going out all her life. She did only thing she could do. She put teaching bowl on her head.

It felt funny. Then she understood everything.

It wouldn't last. She now understood the radiation – a remnant of a long past nuclear war – that had stunted the development of her cerebellum while in gestation, inhibited her ability for cognitive reasoning. She smiled at the last flickering light. All that remained of the consciousness of the most brilliant scientist of her generation, who had created of this facility to provide her people some measure of safety. She said, "I know what we need to do."

She held out the teaching device to Luma. "Soon you will too."


	2. John POV

Sometimes John woke up and thought, "This is my husband's arm around my chest." That, "This is my husband's nose pressed up against my neck scenting me." That, "This is my husband's leg draped over my legs." That, "This is my husband's cock pressed up against my arse."

His husband's fingers stroking across his chest. Sweat sticking bare back to naked front. Alpha scent thick with arousal. Hot breath shifting his hair. Leg shifting as his husband's very interested cock shifted and moved against his arse.

John had a choice. He could press back. Sherlock already knew from the shift in his breathing that he was awake. Or he could drift back to sleep.

If he went back to sleep, he'd wake up alone. Refreshed and ready for the day.

Alone.

If he didn't, he could push back and shifted his hips to let that cock slide along his arse crack. They'd spend awhile just pretending that they were both still asleep. Just shifting around in their sleep. Sleeping, sweating, sticking, sliding bodies. Never mind the increasingly quick breathing. Never mind the slick heat pooling. Never mind the scent of an aroused omega mingling with that of an aroused alpha. The way his husband's hand stroked up and down his chest. Up and down. Up and down. Until finally it drifted down to wrap around John's cock. Holding it. Lovingly stroking it. Tenderly sliding fingers inside John while stroking John's cock with a clever thumb. Always with the intent of making John break the fiction first.

Sometimes John held out. Sometimes, he was able to keep his eyes closed, while pulling his husband's hand up to his lips. To suck on long clever fingers that tasted of his own cunt. Lazily, sleepily sliding his tongue around each one. Shifting his legs so his husband's cock slid between his sweat slick thighs. Moving his hips to slide his husband's aroused cock between his legs until his knot expanded and his husband came shouting John's name.

In which case, his husband got up and came back with a wet piece of silk in a bowl full of some water and an aromatic of some sort. Sometimes rosemary. Sometimes lavender. He rubbed the cloth over John's body slowly. Carefully. Lovingly. Everywhere except between his thighs.

That he would only clean with his tongue and lips. His husband spent what remained of the night with his head resting between John's thighs. Licking and sucking on John's cock while working a dildo – the large ridged red one or the small blue one with the clitoral and anal antennae or the pronged green one – named the Klingon, the Andorian and the Vulcan respectively – inside John. Until John couldn't have said which sensation was the one that made him come.

Sometimes his husband didn't reach for a toy. Sometimes he stroked John's cunt with his fingers. Sometimes he crouched with his full lips around John's cock sucking on the head while stroking John's cunt and anus with both hands, because his husband was a genius and ambidextrous and loved him very much. Those times John spent the entire time whispering, "Love you. Love you. Love you."

Other times, of course, John couldn't take another moment of slow stroking, pretending to be asleep. In those cases, he rolled over. Inhaled his husband's mouth with his own. While scrabbling one handed for the lube in the head board. Sometimes his husband helped by rolling over to present his plump arse, which his clever husband had already helpfully stretched with a vaginal or anal plug. John would pull the red or blue or green thing out. Slicked himself up and slid right into nicely loosened flesh. Listened to his husband yell his name while John made love to his hot, slick, tight body. Until John found the right angle. Then his husband was incapable of speech. Groaning his release. Sometimes John came inside him. Sometimes he pulled out and came on his back. Either way, he got a cotton cloth from the replicator and lovingly cleaned his husband off.

Sometimes, John lovingly ate his husband out first. Sometimes after.

Sometimes, he avoided obvious erogenous zones altogether. Focused on the space behind the ear. Breathing and licking Sherlock's sensitive, so very sensitive organs of hearing. His long gorgeous neck and the scent glands at the base. Loving the small pale pink nipples on his flat chest. Tongue flicking and swirling. Pinching one nipple with one hand and nipping the other with light teeth. Loving the way his husband writhed and whimpered while he played with him. Played with what belonged to John. Played with the sensitive skin behind the knees that had his husband rutting against the bed. Stroked the bottom of his feet, which were surprisingly tender.

Not surprising. His husbands strange and wonderful healing abilities meant he never developed callouses. Wounds closed. Broken skin simply healed. Was always sensitive. Every part of him. Down to his lovely toes and soft skin on the bottom of his heels. All John's to play with and tease until his clever husband, who was being so good while John played with him, cried out in release from nothing more than a soft puff of breath to back of his knees and light fingers down the line of his feet.

Sometimes John rolled over and sank down onto the cock that his husband had been rubbing against his arse at one fucking o'clock in the morning. That wonderful thick long cock.

Sometimes this felt so good, he lingered. Always surprised at how good it felt. He moved slowly. Really working him in and out.

Sometimes the idea of slow was all wrong. Sometime, he laughed and moved hard up and down while chanting, "Mine." And his husband chanted, "Yours."

Sometimes, John just shifted his hips until his husband got impatient with a growl. Rolled them over and slammed so hard inside John that the head board rattled against the wall, and even the vacuum of space would have been able to hear how they both keened if not for the privacy shield that his brilliant husband had installed so they could yell as much as they wanted after John suggested he'd yell louder in the night if it were there.

Of course, on the days John woke up alone, he generally went back to their cabin for a refreshing nap in the middle of the day. On those occasions, Sherlock also returned to their quarters less for a refreshing nap than to rip off John's clothes, throw John onto their marital bed, and fuck him practically through the mattress. Unless, John got there first and was already naked, which really only changed the part where his clothes were ripped off. 

Unless, of course, John didn't go back to their cabin. Instead, his husband dropped by sickbay, to drop a kiss on the marks he'd made long ago on John's neck. Just a little scent marking. A little standing very close behind John while he stood next to a biobed. Rubbing his still very interested cock against John's arse. John's wet cunt fluttering and his cock giving a little jump to semi and then completely hard. Which would be when his brilliant husband, who loved him very much, turned on the privacy shield and they made love to each other while John whispered what the monitors said about their bodies. While his husband watched the way lines and waves of their thoughts moved as they came.

Unless, of course, John went to find out how his husband's day was going up on the bridge. Smiled brightly and sat down next to his husband on the very comfortable command couch. Took his husband's hand and toyed with his fingers. Until one or the other of them thought of a reason to go to the ready room, because they were past ready, where there was yet another privacy shield, because those things were bloody useful. Then because his husband was brilliant, he would know if John had inserted a well lubed anal plug before he came to the bridge or if he had a string of beads in his cunt, or both. Depending, he would hold John against the wall and make slow love to him there, because his husband was strong and wonderful and he loved him, or bend him over the desk to better examine John and take John apart, before loving him back together.

Mind, even on the days when John spent the night making love with his husband, and they shared a shower, which generally resulted in tenderly stroking each other off while water fell around their slick sliding bodies. Playing at washing each other's hair. Sliding fingers over scalps. Playing at rubbing soap lower and lower. Every centimeter of his husband's skin simply had to be thoroughly cleaned. Generally followed by his husband very thoroughly returning the favor. John wasn't much for nipple play in general, but in the shower. In the shower, everything was different. He could lean under the water while his husband's dark head flicked and licked. Unless, that head and clever mind went lower. Unless his husband explored him with his tongue.

In either case, they were late for their shifts and they still met in their quarters or sickbay or the bridge or wherever it was they met that day.

John could not get enough of love.

John did not fail to notice that he was smiling all the time. That maybe he referred to his husband all the time. That everyone was giving them indulgent, if occasionally in the case of meetings in the ready room, wary, smiles.

Well, not Donovan, who had to be overridden a time or two about John, who was now not in the chain of command, attending briefings.

Until Hudson, who was dithering over which chair to sit in, as if John hadn't made love to his husband on all of them, said, "A very military sentiment, do to try to imagine our Captain not telling Doctor Watson every detail the moment the meeting is over. Probably while coupling with a privacy shield engaged that does nothing for psychic energy." Which shut Donovan up. Not that there was much to discuss at meetings.

The Bakerstreet was surveying the Draconis nebula, and really other than looking for anomalies and updating star maps, there wasn't much going on, which was lovely really. Just lovely.

Being openly in a relationship. Being married and in love. Not having to hide what they were doing, well, beyond the privacy shields, because there was such a thing as too much information.

Being in love and being loved.


	3. Sherlock POV

Sherlock was indecently happy. Bubbling with joy. Like a geyser flying into the air scattering rainbows as the sun shone through the steam. The glint of light on John's hair. Like the frothy crest of a wave rising higher and higher on the loft of John's smile.

A ring firm around his finger. Placed there by his husband. A mark of belonging. A chosen mark. Joyfully chosen. Sometimes, in the shadow of John's absence, he'd press it to his lips to hold off the whispers from the gallery.

John loved him. He loved John.

_The many times he'd heard Second Father tell him that love was a chemical reaction and prone to fade. Humans, Betas or Augments, were polygamous monkeys. Marriages on average breaking after four years. Statistics bubbled out of the study. Floated like throat chocking dust motes out of the library. Averages. Second Father liked statistics._

_Was his present joy burning to ashes future contentment?_

_Then there was that shadow on his brain scan._

_Some memory of Julian intruding to remind him that his ability to accurately weigh present reward versus future risk._

_Mycroft II's solemn smile. "I know why Mummy made me. A living Momento Mori. But you don't know what purpose Mummy had in creating you? He had no way of knowing if there a time bomb waiting in his genetics."_

_The soft whisper of Mycroft I. "There was a purpose to my creation. Not Mummy's choice. Not even down to the Beta selected to mitigate our deficiencies."_

_Never one to lean away from pleasure, his first father shook his long hair. In memory, still black and untinged by silver. "Seize the moment."_

_Mummy smiled enigmatically thorough all of this. To ask that portrait if Mummy's modifications meant anything. If they'd done anything at all. That was to ask himself._

_"Or there's no wave," said John's wedding portrait as he sideways on a wing chair. "Just locks going from lake to lake. Because I love you and you love me." He kept putting the portrait back in John's wing, but John would go where he wanted._

John loved to cook, and yet since their marriage, every night they'd eaten a quick replicated meal before hurriedly flipping on the privacy shield, stripping out of their clothes and falling into each other's arms.

The first coupling of the night was always like an explosion. Hard and fast. Incoherent cries, followed by softly lying next to each other whispering, "I love you."

His heart beating, bursting with each whisper. Exchanged with a kiss.

Every night, as they fell asleep after their first coupling, Sherlock would tell himself that this night, he wouldn't break John's sleep. He would enjoy the simple pleasure of lying in bed with John. Luxuriate in something that they could never have enjoyed while hiding their relationship. Even when it was clear everyone knew, given the number of emergencies, before their marriage, they simply couldn't afford to fall asleep together too often.

The number of times John had expected him to leave his quarters afterwards still ached.

First sleep. First coupling. The natural circadian rhythm of the human sleep cycle in a life without electricity. He thought that too.

He'd wake holding John. Holding his husband. Inhaling his intoxicating scent. The marks that Sherlock had bitten into his skin inches from his lips. He could never resist scenting his husband.

His resistance was – as the Borg might say – futile. In as much as it took the form of stretching himself with this or that toy that was conveniently in his bed stand. In that it took the form of stroking John's chest until his breathing shifted to indicate that first sleep had ended.

Sherlock would wait to see what his husband would do.

If he drifted back into sleep, he'd fling himself out of bed and head down to the Observation deck. Stood on the transparent surface over the dark of space littered with stars. Knew that he was small and fragile in all that expanse. That Mummy and his parent's plans were small too. In face of everything, he'd find himself writing concertos for the violin. For the wave. The geyser. Love.

Really far too many crew on the night shift wandered by such a remote part of the ship.

If John joined in the love play, the wave lifted ever higher. Kissing John's shoulder. Rubbing their sweating bodies. Sliding between his husband's thighs.

Some nights John realized that Sherlock had stretched himself. An indication that Sherlock wanted John to claim him. Own him. Take him over. That he always wanted that. Needed to be owned by John. Was owned. Married. Husbands. 

Some nights John didn't. A delicious pleasure when John rode Sherlock's cock long past when second sleep should have begun. A delight when Sherlock crouched between John's thighs and demonstrated his love with hands and lips and all of him. Always all of himself.

It was never Sherlock's intention as he drifted back to sleep beside John to initiate coupling in the morning. He intended enabling him to get to his shift on time. But when John – his husband – opened his eyes, beautiful blue, and kissed him, their mouths rank with the night and Sherlock could not have cared less, it was inevitable that Sherlock would follow him into the shower.

Sherlock knew that John preferred a sonic shower, and yet he always opted for water

When they were standing there wet and slick, kissing under the falling water, it was inevitable that Sherlock would linger. Exploring every inch of his husband with his lips. Blind fingers. Tracing freckles by memory. Unless his love demanded, "Fuck me!" There in the warm wet world they'd created, pounding inside his husband, his John, until the wall shook with the force of their bodies, until his husband shouted Sherlock's name.

Unless he leaned against the wall and looked back over his shoulder, and made his request, "Love me."

It was never Sherlock's intention to seek his husband out during the day. They had separate interests. Separate careers. But he had the ship's computer tell him when John went to their quarters in the middle of the day.

His heart squeezing when the computer told him it was so. He ran. Discarding clothing in a fast rain when he was through the door. If John was still dressed. If he was lying naked on the bed in a variety of poses. He hoped that John had remembered to turn on the privacy shield, hoping that he hadn't. Wanting everyone to hear John shout his name. Shout, "I love you!" Shout as they made the bed rattle against the wall.

It was never Sherlock's intention to seek John out in sickbay, his place of work. But if John didn't go to their quarters, Sherlock found himself down in sickbay, needing John's scent. The sight of him. Of a brief brush of lips.

This inevitably resulted in getting to see John's brain waves and chemical levels while they coupled. So at least there was some science going on.

The bridge was all John. Given he almost always showed up with some form of silicone inserted in his anal or vaginal tracts. So that was more on John. Sherlock knew it wasn't a test. He wasn't failing when he pulled whichever plug it was out only to take its place, holding John against the view port or bending him over Sherlock's desk.

Still, this was the reason why when Hunter spotted an unknown ship with an ion drive that Sherlock did not com John to come to the bridge. Why he didn't go to their quarters when the computer told him John went there.

Ion propulsion was purely theoretical, and yet there it was. A ship traveling at Warp 9.6 in their direction. It was why he was torn when the lift opened, and John came onto the bridge with an anal plug inserted – the Andorian from the way he was walking. Eros, love come calling. John grinned at him as if to say, "What is it?" As if to say, "I want to be in on the adventure too."

The moment broken when an alien appeared holding some form of stasis device.

There was a flash of light and Sherlock felt himself dissolve into nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/is-there-a-biological-basis-for-the-7-year-itch/  
> https://www.sciencealert.com/humans-used-to-sleep-in-two-shifts-maybe-we-should-again


	4. John POV

John had woken up alone. His husband's scent lingering in the sheets. John did not wank off to the scent. He took a quick shower for once and headed to sickbay for his shift.

For his first appointment, Stonn came in with his son, Sestre, for a checkup. John complemented the boy for growing an inch since his last exam and was very solemnly informed that "Actually, I have no control over my growth, so complementing me on its progress is illogical." He looked up at his father, who nodded gravely.

Hebron came in with Eva who was more than happy to claim credit for her growth since her last exam. He did some paperwork, but there really wasn't much on.

Thought about waiting in sickbay, but really didn't want to. Stopped by their quarters to insert the blue anal plug, which given the antennae made walking to the bridge interesting.

Grinned at Sherlock as he came out of the lift. Sherlock's eyes widened as he looked at him. Even after several months, somehow surprised that John loved him.

He was examining something in one of the monitors, which meant something was going on. Some kind of adventure.

John took a careful step forward, when Hunter said, "Captain, the ion propulsion ship is stopping next to us."

John wasn't an engineer, but even he knew that ion propulsion was purely theoretical. Mostly because Smith had gone on about it for years. The moment she transferred off, they encountered one. He was mentally composing a message, when an alien appeared in front of them.

She held up a device that glowed pink and green. John froze in place. Everyone froze. Some kind of localized stasis field.

She pointed the thing at Sherlock and said, "You'll do."

Two things happened simultaneously. She disappeared and Sherlock fell to the floor.


	5. Sherlock POV

Sherlock opened his eyes. 10,346 cameras clicked into focus.

He drew in a breath. Massive fans spun in air handling units on a snowy planetary surface. Filtering the air. Warming it. Removing residual radiation.

He filtered out many contaminants through his filtration units. Unit A34 through B93 needed cleaning. He flexed mechanical arms – 456 to 460. They existed to manipulate the devices and filters. He had arms in all the key systems rooms. But no voice.

As he exhaled, he pushed out cleaned heated air into kilometers of underground corridors.

His blood pumped. Although, he was aware that his blood was electricity fed by massive turbines spun by water falling through a tunnel at the bottom of a deep and wide lake, which then flowed out into the sea.

His blood was also water pumped from that same lake into passive filtration ponds. Distilled into potable water. Pumped into tanks for heating.

He'd always been fond of referring to his body as transport, but he was feeling an increasing sense of panic given that his transport appeared to be missing.

That was not his greatest concern. He turned all 10,346 cameras to one purpose.

Find John.

None of the cameras found him. He was not inside Sherlock. He did locate the ion drive ship docked on a landing pad. There was a manual control for the hatch on the far side.

He located documentation. It read, "Congratulations. You have ascended to a new non corporeal form of life. You are the sentient Controller, who maintains the underground living facility for the Eymorg, the females of the dominant form of life on this once wonderful planet. Don't worry. Most of your systems rely on non-cognitive functions to operate. You will have plenty of time to read the operations manual over the next 1000 years of operation to know how to maintain this facility. You will find that manual in the distributed access storage array at 192.168.2.1 through 10.

One of his cameras spotted a woman – Kara – supplied the remotely stored dataset – who said, "Good, Controller."

Sherlock tried holding his breath. Stopping his blood from pumping. He couldn't.

It would seem corporeal or not, those functions were hard wired into him.

He rubbed hand unit 456 against unit 457. Sensors pads on the fingers informed him of the touch, and yet, he couldn't feel it. After a month of touch hungry skin delighting in feeling, he was the moon. A rock. Transport taken away, he could go nowhere. 

He set to opening and closing the doors that allowed the lake water into the power tunnels, which would cause spikes and valleys in the energy signature emanating from the planet. Hope that since he was trapped, that someone would see his signal.

While at the same time, not knowing if it mattered. With no voice. With no body.

He opened and closed the doors. Hoping John would find him.


	6. John POV

John ran for the medical tricorder in the emergency hatch. Scanned Sherlock.

No neural functions. Autonomic functions operating erratically, which given Sherlock's regenerative ability, was very not good. John applied a stimulant.

Sherlock's systems were shutting down.

Hudson was saying something about how he was gone, how his psyche had been taken, which was not on while Sherlock's heart was beating.

John applied a stasis devise to Sherlock's over developed head and since it wasn't built do anything, but stop bleeding, re-programmed it to supply the impulses to tell Sherlock's heart to keep beating. To tell his lungs to keep pumping air. At some point, while doing all of this, he flung the anal plug against the wall, because some things were just not on while trying to save the love of his life from dying.

Finally, he looked up. Growled at the very concerned looking bridge crew, "I can keep his systems functioning for now, but it's hit or miss and the only reason it's working at all is Sherlock's level of augmentation. So tell me, what the ever living fuck just happened?"

Hudson correctly interpreted that, because she said, "We've traced the ion trail from the ship to the Sigma Draconis system. There are three M class planets there."

"What are their descriptions?" asked John.

"What does it matter?" asked Donovan. " Watson's not in the command structure. We can't go on some revenge spree because an alien killed Holmes. We need to report what happened. But we can't commit an act of war. Certainly not one against a civilization with more advanced ships than ours."

"Hush, now," said Hudson, sending Donovan a quick glare. "I felt that woman take the captain's consciousness, which means there's something to take back. We have a choice between going to Sigma I, which is a very small irradiated rock. Sigma VI, a heavily glaciated planet, and Sigma CXCII, which is a frozen moon to Sigma CXC, but it has some volcanic activity."

"I'm seeing a pattern of energy pulses outside of the planet's background energy coming from Sigma VI," said Hunter.

John looked down at Sherlock's dear face. Brushed back a lock of his hair. "Sigma VI it is."

They laid in a course, while John told Sherlock's body in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to die. Then set to work on figuring out how to trigger functions to get it moving.

Because wherever Sherlock's psyche was, they'd need to bring his body.


	7. Sherlock POV

Sherlock breathed.

His blood pumped.

He had no nerves. No skin.

He had eyes. He had hands. He was able to cobble a simple transmitter in one of the filtration labs, but the range and power were limited. Still, if John came close enough, Sherlock might regain his voice.

He spotted the Bakerstreet as soon as it entered orbit. He repurposed the array of devices intended to monitor atmospheric radiation and track meteorological events.

He could see when the landing party appeared. When John appeared holding a tricorder and a phaser. Standing next to him were Hudson, Washington, Cho, and oddly enough, himself.

Sherlock had read the manual of his new existence. The air handling units led to small ducts too small for a Human to pass through. There was no access to the facility from the power station. There was, however, a filthy shivering Morg hunting near an air handling unit.

Sherlock turned the HVAC on, which startled the animals that Morg had been hunting, which led to the man standing up and cursing, which led to him being captured by the away team.

He could only hope that the Morg could guide the away team, guide John, to the facility and into communication range.


	8. John POV

John repeated his question. "Where is the landing pad for the ion ship?"

The humanoid moaned. "Don't know." He pointed at Cho. "Giver of pain and delight. Maybe she know."

"I don't think he knows," said Cho.

Since the humanoid didn't know where the fans led, and could only tell them that they belonged to the bringers of pain and delight, John wasn't sure how useful he was.

Washington reached into a pouch and pulled out an energy bar. At John's look, he said, "I have a five year old, I always have snacks." He peeled it open and handed it to the man. "Yummy food, and more when you take us to the bringers of pain and delight."

The humanoid snatched it from his hand. "How much more?"

Washington held up three fingers.

The humanoid said, "I take you near." He grimaced. "Like the delight. No like the pain."

"Sure thing, big guy," said Washington.

The humanoid led them away from the ventilation units that had originally gotten their attention and down a valley. Finally, he stopped and pointed at a cave opening. "There. Food now."

Washington gave the humanoid his food bars, while John focused on guiding Sherlock's body into the cave.

Inside they found a pile of boxes and a large x painted on the ground. John looked up. There was a device in the ceiling.

"I think that's what's called a trap," said Cho.

"The X on the floor is a nice touch," said Washington. "Although, it's about like something Eva would draw." He tilted his head. "She'd have done a better job."

John scanned the cave. There was no convenient door to blast through. There was a camera very obviously looking at them. John's com pinged.

He tapped it. "Bakerstreet, we've found a signs of an industrialized society."

Sherlock's voice came through the com. "I know, John. It's good to see you."

John couldn't help but look at Sherlock's body standing still and silent next to him. "Where are you?"

"An interesting question. I am thousands of miles of corridors and duct work and power units. As well as the camera looking at you. The Eymorg, the people who live here, have somehow transferred my consciousness into the mechanisms that runs their facility. Where that consciousness may be said to reside was not included in the manual. There are only two ways into the facility. The bay to the starship, the doors for which are manually operated with a code to which I don't have access, and the transmatter over the trap."

John did not think about how quiet Sherlock's body was. He did not think about how the technology that was keeping him alive was cobbled together from an emergency kit. That at any time, any of his systems could start failing.

"Trap it is then," said John. He turned to Cho. "Go back to the Bakerstreet and have them come back to see if you can find any other way inside." She didn't tell him that he wasn't in her chain of command.

She said, "Aye, sir."

"Let's go in."

John guided Sherlock's body onto the X and stepped on with Washington.

There was a flash of golden light around them. They were standing inside some sort of industrial facility.

An alien female stood there with three males. The males were wearing silver belts with a green circle on it.

The female said, "Good. Need more Morg." She tossed silver belts at them. "Put on."

John said, "Where is the consciousness that you took from us."

"Didn't take," said the woman. "You take belt. Put on belt. I am Luma. I in charge of you. If not, I send out. No food for you."

John put on the belt. He put the belt on Sherlock's body. He was surprised that Luma hadn't noticed that Sherlock's eyes were closed, but then again, she hadn't commented that they didn't look very much like the native population.

Unfortunately, she tapped a control on her wrist. "Pain." It felt as if his testes were grabbed in a giant fist and twisted. Luma tapped her bracelet and the pain stopped. "Be good. No pain. Be bad. Pain."

The lights dimmed. The woman looked up. "Controller! Stop it. Do job. Keep lights on."

"Maybe I can help," said John. "I'm a doctor. Maybe the Controller is sick. Take to me to him."

"Not a him. Not a Morg. Not a her. Not an Eymorg." She looked at him dubiously. "Controller can't get sick. Controller is Controller. Controller loses lights maybe. But new Controller. Lots of lights. I have things need moving. Big strong Morg. Move things. Get fed." She looked Washington over. "Maybe get delight."

"Uh…" said Washington. "I'm not sure I'm…"

She sniffed. "Or not. Move."

"Take us to your things," said John, "I'd love to see more of your home."

Thus began Washington and John's life of manual labor. They had lost contact with the Bakerstreet, but he knew Hudson would be working on ways to get into the facility other than being captured.

The Eymorg base was immense. There were several thousand Eymorg with bracelets and a few hundred Morg wearing the pain belts. He had an idea why within a few days of arriving. If the Eymorg did not appear to be developmentally able to have created the facility, the Morg were unstable. Given to sudden flights of rage.

The Eymorg and Morg occupied a fraction of the area of the facility. There was an entire level dedicated to nurseries and child birth. Mostly empty, but for a few dozen children.

None of them seemed to know where the Controller was or what it was, or know what a starship was, much less how to operate one using an advanced propulsion method. Certainly the Eymorg didn't seem to realize that John and Washington were scanning every room they visited for systems that could conceivably contain a consciousness, or at least did more than run lighting in the underground farms.

Eventually, John spoke with the woman, Kara, who'd come onto the ship, but even she didn't seem to know anything.

He did his best to maintain Sherlock's body, but even with the stasis device, it was getting weaker.

It was half a comfort to hear Sherlock talking to him through the com. These days, he'd do it from the com on Sherlock's chest. Sometimes planning what rooms John and Washington should separately search at night when the Eymorg were asleep. Sometimes, just talking about past adventures. As if laying them out for John to remember.

The day they found the starship, sitting in a vast underground chamber, was a bit of a tense one.

Sherlock said, "When my body dies, you should leave. The controls to operate the door are on the far wall. I don't have access to the code to open them, but you should be able to determine the pattern using a tricorder. You have some facility to breaking into rooms." That last statement was rueful.

John turned away. "As I keep telling you, I'm a doctor, not a pilot." Then after a look at the floor, he said, "Time runs out, we'll still have time to figure out how to upload me to wherever you are before getting Washington out." He knew his genius. "Don't think I don't know you're thinking about sacrificing yourself so I can go free. But that's not just on. Delete that plan."

John kept looking.


	9. Sherlock POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... possibly this counts as tentacle porn. Not that Sherlock has tentacles, but industrial machinery is used for purposes that were not their original intention.

_Sherlock had a rejoinder to his parent's assertion that love was simply a chemical reaction. A biological impulse destined to fade._

_He had no body. He had no chemistry._

_He loved._

_It was a light in every room in his mind palace._

_He was a memory palace. Composed of memory. Love spread through all of him._

He flushed with lights in levels where no one had gone in centuries when he understood how John had kept his body alive. He hadn't even thought about his body in his blind need to see John after he'd become incorporeal. Had assumed – incorrectly – that his body was lost to him.

There was a soft glow in the running lights through the corridors when John saw through his plan to destroy himself so John wouldn't feel bound to this place.

Every HVAC system sighed when John asked, "If this place is like your body, and wherever you're centrally located is your brain, then your connectivity is your nervous system. What we need to find are the connections that are particularly dense with a lot of… what do you call it, throughput. You must have a spinal column somewhere."

Which since he'd been slowly communicating with an away team from the Bakerstreet via Morris code as to their status using the surface fans was not entirely a good thing.

"John, that's a sound theory as far as the analogy I've been giving you goes, but it's not that exactly a correlation. Simply put, I have thousands of spinal columns spread throughout the facility. This is a very large structure. The Eymorg only occupy a fraction of what they once did. They are dying off."

"Not particularly full up on sympathy just now, and as to the locations," John smiled. Sherlock saw him in multiple profiles as he looked at Sherlock's body, at the communicator though which he's been speaking, and Sherlock looked down from cameras on the ceiling. That smile was full light. Full of hope. Humor. Determination. "Nothing else on just now."

In a corporeal form, Sherlock would have been overwhelmed by the biological impulse that smile engendered in him. Embodied in a different way, he could ventilate areas of the facility that had grown dusty with disuse and marvel at this constant star, who loved him.

He also, because he certainly had plenty of time to think about it, came to understand that desire was formed in the mind. He had to wonder what it said about him that even as he was, desire infused him without the excuse of being embodied.

Sherlock could not fail to observe that after John spent the early evening hours searching, John had Sherlock's body lie down on his bed with him and hold John in a simulacrum of sleep.

Sherlock's body was a dead man breathing.

He'd do that and ask Sherlock, "Could you talk to me until I fall asleep?"

Sherlock spoke to John through the com attached to his body's chest, while thinking about the need for touch. The need to touch.

He weighed the cost of a wasted few hours search versus his longing. The benefit and cost if he directed John to one of the rooms where Sherlock had limbs of a sort.

The cost in time was high. The Bakerstreet had made little progress tunneling their way through the solid rock of the structure, which was miles below the surface. There were thousands of possible areas to search for the central location of his consciousness. For the interface where it had been injected into this facility. Based on the sound of his body's heartbeat through the com on his chest, his biological body was failing despite John's best efforts.

There might be benefits too. A unique opportunity. The ache in his heart that wasn't there longed to see John happy. Not growing more desperate every day.

He directed John into the water filtration station on level 16 near a cluster of possible sites after he'd done some suitable experiments.

When John arrived, he reached out with hand unit 455 and brushed John's hair. He was aware of the touch through the senor pads. It was a distant awareness. Lacking the tactile expression of a fingertip. Yet, there was a distinct sense of warmth in being able to feel – even if in a very different way – John's skin.

He also heard John yelp, almost dropping the tricorder. "Sherlock was that you?"

"Yes," said Sherlock. "Unless you have reason to believe there is some other consciousness operating this facility."

"No," John looked at the array of arms and pseudopods attached to the facility walls and ceiling.

Sherlock waved them at John more to see John's reaction than anything else. "There are a number of rooms that require direct interaction. The previous consciousness appeared to spend her time sorting filtration units and fabricating materials."

"Her?"

"I believe so. Although, after a thousand years as pure mental energy, that blurred. Was irrelevant."

Sherlock reached out again with units 456 through 460 to lightly brush John's arms. Cup his face. He couldn't feel smooth or rough. Texture or warmth. There was nothing to evoke a pleasure response. Other than observing John's pupil dilation, increased heart rate and breathing. John said, somewhat oddly, "But I hated 'Demon Seed' both as a book and a movie."

Sherlock very lightly, he had enormous control given the fragility of some of items he was expected to service in this room, brushed a pseudopod over John's cheek. "Shall I stop?"

"If you get me pregnant with a cyborg demon baby, I will hurt you."

Sherlock had no idea why John was concerned about cyborg demon children. It was best to simply ask. "Why do you say that?"

"Oh, 'Demon Seed' is a book about a woman who has sex with the AI running her house, except its psychotic and it impregnates her with some sperm it cooked up out of her genetic material. It's a weird, disturbing, misogynistic story."

Sherlock brushed the pseudopod down John's neck. He could not scent John. Sherlock had no teeth. He could merely bring hand unit 420 to delicately pinch John's neck over the bite marks in a simulation of a bite. Sherlock had no sperm and no labs with which to create such, even if he wanted to breed John. He was well aware of how John would and had responded to the initiation of successful reproduction in the past.

The thought caused no distress. Biology. The past. Sherlock said, "I promise I will not impregnate you while inhabiting the consciousness of an alien underground facility with a cyborg, demon, or any other sort of child."

What he was doing was quite probably a mistake. Possibly a waste of time. Coitus with John in this scenario would only lead to the idea that this was some form of life. It was not. The increasingly bizarre notes left by the previous consciousness over time in the manual made that clear.

Sherlock did not particularly care.

He delicately removed John's clothes, if unfortunately not the pain belt, with hand units 444 to 450. 440 and 441 took possession of both coms. Held them next to John's ears. Whispered, "I love you," as he lifted him up with 412 to 420.

John sighed and said, "I lied. I thought the sex in the first half of 'Demon Seed' was hot."

Since Sherlock was unlikely to ever read any book called 'Demon Seed', he focused his observations of John's reactions to being touched. His evident arousal when Sherlock slid the tip of pseudopod 345 and 346 across his nipples, applying gentle suction with the vacuum units at the ends. He applied pseudopods 340 to 345 to good use all over John's skin. A bead of water of water to the curve of his ears. A delicate puff of air to the same area to stimulate an ASMR response. Gentle suction to the nerve cluster behind his ears. To his neck. The area behind his knees.

Sherlock had dozens of hands and pseudopods. Multiple cameras to observe and adjust based on John's reactions.

Soon John was twisting in the air. His breathing harsh. His moans echoing off the walls. There was no privacy shield. It didn't matter. The room was kilometers from where any of the Eymorg or Morg slept. Washington was searching half a facility away.

Sherlock slipped pseudopod 400 around John's cock. Its actual purpose was removing excess water. Sherlock had been experimenting at levels of suction that could be applied. He applied less than one tenth of the lowest level of pressure. John was delicate. John was embodied. Everything was about how best to elicit moans and pleasured cries from his embodied partner. His lightning rod. His conductor of light.

He shifted all his limbs. Sliding. Touching. Humming to John from the coms while brushing and sucking and whispering warm air over feet and legs and thighs and arms and chest and all of him. Sherlock lubed pseudopods 347 and 348 with grease and gently slid them in and out of John's anal and vaginal tracts. Turning them slowly to touch John's prostate and graffenberg spot simultaneously while continuing to adjust the suction with pseudopod 400.

John shouted Sherlock's name. Just his name. His spine bending backwards as he came. When he'd stopped and his breathing calmed, Sherlock lowered John into the vat used for heating water. In this case, the temperature lowered to a human comfortable degree. John whispered to the coms, his eyes closed, floating. "That was fan-fucking-tastic, but," he opened his eyes, "probably not the best use of our time."

"You're embodied, John," said Sherlock. "You need it for your psychological health."

John looked at the camera directly above him. "Because you got nothing out of that? And don't think I don't know you practiced with the hose things before trying them on me." He waved an arm at the pile of small bolts where Sherlock had practiced with the pseudopods to get the pressure right.

"John, that's entirely correct," said Sherlock, pleased at John's observation.

"Yeah, well, I've met the pervy love of my life, and it's the sort thing you'd do before getting me off, which I may have observed that you really enjoy doing."

Sherlock stared at John with all his cameras, which was what he'd been doing a moment before, but now it was with different intent. He did enjoy ensuring John had many orgasms. He always had. From their very first encounter, which admittedly had had a biological component, but it was a solid through line of intent. When he woke John in the middle of the night, it wasn't his own desire, something to trouble him, but occurred equally out of his desire to please John and be pleased.

He thought about a play John had dragged him to on Aural V, _Metamorphoses._ It was based on a work of poetry by an ancient Roman poet about beings that had gone through various transformations. At the time, he'd mostly been absorbed by the way John marveled at the play's staging, a pool of shallow water surrounded by a wide walkway. The sound of his laughter when they were splashed as actors slid in and out of the pool as they were transformed. He thought about one of the play's vignettes. Eros, the god of erotic love, naked, blind, floating on a small raft surrounded by white candles shaped like flowers that bobbed on the water. That lit the way for Psyche, the goddess of the love of the soul, to find him. Tangled together upon that fragile raft in the midst of the pool, they were love.

Over the last few months, and really perhaps through much of the physical aspect of their relationship, he'd thought of John as a sort of embodiment of eros. John had a far greater level of sexual experience. Certainly a higher degree of sexual confidence. The way his very scent made Sherlock feel out of control. Overwhelming his senses, sensibility, and any training he'd been monotonously given by his parents.

Disembodied he could revel at the lightning rod that was John. Clever. Knowledgeable. Sure as he made little adjustments to prolong the life in Sherlock's body. Sparking ideas in Sherlock. There had been so many ideas over the years. John was not only Eros, he was Psyche too. Sherlock as well. He lowered pseudopod 401 and pressed a kiss to love's lips.

Understanding that his parent's definition of love had made no place for such a thing, and how wonderful that John had provided the metaphor. The idea. The light.

Eros and Psyche floating in a pool of water, transformed.

John levered himself to his feet. Sherlock lifted him up out of the tub and put him down next to his clothes. "We can't waste time on this again." He looked over at where Sherlock's body, his physical self, was standing by the wall. "Your body is dying."

"I know," said Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't say that on the day that his physical form died, John was correct. He did have a plan where he could direct John and Washington to the room with the starship, be sure the emergency batteries were fully charged, and overload the power turbines. It was a well-designed system, but any system could be overloaded. Wherever his consciousness was stored, it couldn't operate without power.

John had told him to delete the plan. That he could upload himself, but the idea of condemning John to this form of existence was not one Sherlock relished.

It was a last resort that would made John very angry with him, but it was there.

As always hope came from John. Flushed with the chemical cocktail of what had just happened, he mused, "Anyway, the really creepy bit in 'Demon Seed' was when the AI made itself an artificial body."

Brilliant.

He discussed the option with John, who laughed as he searched the surrounding rooms. "Let's not give up on your actual body just yet. Yeah?"

Sherlock grumbled, but he agreed.

There was always hope. John, as always, was the conductor of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my best theater experiences was going this production based on Ovid's Metamorphoses + Lucius Apuleius Metamorphoses/Golden Ass  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metamorphoses_(play)  
> The use of water as an additional element evoking transformation was amazing. If, occasionally, wet for the audience. 
> 
> John read the 1973 version of:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demon_Seed_(novel)  
> Not sure how, because I came across it in a used bookstore in my early teens.


	10. John POV

Luma came to where John, Washington and the others were working in one of the hydroponics rooms. She said, "John, Washington, I've observed that you have a higher level of intelligence than the rest of the Morg. I'm going to need your help repairing the super-heated steam units on level 45."

This was the most coherent thing Luma had ever said to John. She was acting like a different being. The sort of person who might conceivably operate an advanced facility.

He asked, "What happened?"

She took him literally, which was fortunate. "The equipment's over a thousand years old. One of the ball valves failed, which ruptured the pipe and associated tank. I had to apply the teaching device so I can learn how to fix it. All information about how to maintain this facility is stored in the device. As soon as I had the mental acuity to perform the task, I immediately thought of you. Interesting, I've just noticed that you're not Morg. Not that it matters that we're different species when it comes to super-heated steam and ball valves. Although, it does put paid to my designs on your um…" she waggled her eyebrows at Washington, "ball valve and piping for reproductive purposes."

"Uh," said Washington, who looked at John for assistance.

Sherlock said, "I've traced her route back through the cameras. I have it. Level 75, room 101. It's one of the candidate rooms. But you'll be going in dark. I have no cameras in that room. We need that teaching device."

John didn't hesitate. He stunned Luma and they took off as quickly as he could operate Sherlock's body.

So not entirely quickly.

Unfortunately, room 101 wasn't empty. Kara was there. She tapped the device on her wrist, knocking John and Washington to the ground in agony. John gritted his teeth and operated the tricorder. Sherlock's body careened into her, knocking her over. Sherlock's voice on his chest said, "Remember, the green button on the bracelet will release the belts."

John crawled over and pushed the green button. The belts snapped off and the pain stopped. John looked around the room. There was a pillar topped with a glowing sphere. Connective lines ran from it in all directions. Below it an interface that even to John's non-engineering eyes looked like a plug of some sort. "Sherlock, I think we've found you." He looked at Kara. "How do I get the Controller out of that thing?"

Kara said, "Can't. In. No out."

"Where's the teaching device?"

Kara pointed at a bowl shaped device covered in diodes and wire. If he wasn't mistaken, it was a very dangerous way to create a short term enhancement of neural function while simultaneously downloading information to overloaded neural pathways. "I show you." She put it on before he could stop her and flipped a switch. Lights glowed and her expression changed. "You're trying to remove the consciousness from the Controller. We need him." She placed her hand over her heart. "My people will die if we don't have a Controller to operate this facility."

"His body will die if he stays."

"No," said Kara. She raised a small silver device. "I know how to operate this laser now. I will stop you if you try to take him. I will kill you." She raised it slightly higher aiming.

"If you kill him, I'll destroy the power for the facility," said Sherlock through the com. "You could kidnap a hundred Controllers and they couldn't help you."

"But we can't survive outside. It's not livable. Many of the Morg from above the surface are becoming sterile in addition to violent. Developing unsupportable mutations. The only way to survive is below the surface."

"Strangely, I feel unwilling to give up my life to enable you to live in ever dwindling number in a cave system," said Sherlock.

Washington said, "This is no life for a child." He looked at John, who shrugged for Washington to go with it. "Look, I'm a parent. I've seen your kids and how far you're willing to go to raise them. But there's no reason to stay on this world. You've got an ion propulsion ship that's decades away from anything what our government's got. That the Federation's got. We have lots of land on lots of worlds. Trade the ship for resources somewhere on a planet that's not frozen and lousy with radiation. Your parents did their best to get you to this point. The scientist who created this place, she did her best. Now do your best about giving your children a better place to live."

The lights dimmed. Sherlock said, "Also, I am deadly serious about blowing up the power grid if you hurt John."

"You'll get my people off this planet," said Kara.

"Yes," said Sherlock.

Kara lowered the device. "I can't do it alone."

John said, "Show me how to use the device." The bowl felt strange on his head. Prickly. Stranger was the knowledge flooding into him. Everything seemed brighter. Bolder. He knew what he needed to do. He also knew he had three hours to complete the operation or he'd forget, and once started, he needed to finish. Fortunately, he also didn't need to do it alone.

The removal of a consciousness, it would seem, was easy. The work of moments. But now that Sherlock had been integrated into the facility, his psyche would need to be separated memory by thought. He understood the nature of psychic phenomenon in a way he never had before. Never would again. It was like the time he'd gone silver eyed, without the distractions.

They worked diligently. As the lights of the facility dimmed, colors one by one shifted through the transmascope from the Controller sphere to reattach with its corresponding function in Sherlock's body. When he hit the two hour mark, John had Washington put on the teaching device. It almost hurt to feel the knowledge of what to do fade away. To have to trust a kid whose knowledge of medicine was restricted to the basics of CPR and an auto suture. But that's what life on a ship was. Trust.

He stepped away and held the tricorder to provide light as the final light in the sphere dimmed.

"Sherlock, are you there?"

Sherlock's body – Sherlock – let out a long shuddering breath. He lifted his hand and moved his fingers. "It would seem that I am."

"You kill us," said Kara sadly. "Dark now."

"This wasn't precisely living," said Sherlock. He sat up. Low level lighting flickered along the walls and led out the door. He said, "I've kept the emergency batteries fully charged. The lights throughout the facility are programmed to run in a pattern that should guide inhabitants into the landing bay."

John reached out and took Sherlock's hand. He didn't let it go until they were in the landing bay and both of them needed their hands figure out the lock and get them out of there.


	11. Sherlock POV

Sherlock reluctantly left John to go to the bridge.

The Bakerstreet did not have the facilities to take several thousand people anywhere, but Starfleet quickly ordered a large capacity troop transport when Command learned that there was an ion ship available for study in return. It wasn't a violation of the Prime Directive. Although, a certain degree of obfuscation about the current technical level of the Eymorg and Morg was called for.

The computer informed Sherlock that John was in their quarters.

He went to sickbay.

Julian was treating Khel for some form of infection.

Sherlock waited.

When he was done with his patient, Julian said, "John's not here."

"I have observed that," said Sherlock. "I came to speak with you about a personal matter."

"Ohhhhkay," said Julian. "Sure."

"I have observed that you are in a relationship with Lieutenant Hunter."

Julian's face transformed into a soft smile. It was fascinating, given that he was nothing but light and algorithms. "Yeah, we are."

"I've also observed that the relationship is a physical one," said Sherlock pressing on.

"Hey, I don't talk about all the times you and John bring up the privacy shield," said Julian.

"I am not interested in minute details. I wanted to ask why. What do you get out of such activities? Is it because Hunter programmed you to do so?"

Julian looked down and fiddled with a hypospray. Again, interesting, given that was a response to nervousness that Julian could not feel. A ploy for his systems to determine a response. Same result.

Finally, he said, "No. She changed me, but you all changed me." He looked up for a brief glance. "You gave me curiosity. I've never thanked you, so thanks. Doctor Bashir's template gave me optimism. My lead programmer gave me sarcasm." He touched a wall of sickbay beneath a camera. The actual method Julian was seeing Sherlock. That and all the sensors laced in the walls around the room. "My full designation is EMH Program AK-1 Diagnostic and Surgical Subroutine Omega-323. The majority of holographic doctors on being turned on asked to be called EMH, Doctor, or Mark. I'm a Mark II. But the tech who installed me is the reason I asked to be called Julian. She thought it was better than being named for what version I am."

"But the changes that Hunter programmed into you," said Sherlock, who did not want to repeat himself, but he wanted to understand. He knew himself to be a creation. That Mummy had not done something in creating him that inculcated his love, which in turn could result in a fade that he did not want.

Julian's laugh was soft. "I'm not a program in a holodeck. I'm made up of fifty million gigaquads of memory. Hunter cleaned up my code. My memory storage. Put a place for a sexual subroutine, but…I augmented the algorithm that gets positive feedback when a patient is healthy with a specific sub-routine for Violet when Violet gave me control over my own code." Julian looked around the room. "Seems to me as good a definition of love as I've read in any database. And I do have the benefit that a ship, unlike an Eymorg base, moves around. Handy when you love and are loved by a navigator."

"Ah, you've heard about my time as a disembodied consciousness," said Sherlock.

"John made his medical log report when he got back," said Julian. "It may have come up."

Sherlock nodded and didn’t share his plans for self-destruction to make John leave. The possibility that they would have mingled. The thought that he could have created a simulacrum of a body to carry him on. He did say, "You do realize that the systems containing your consciousness are not entirely stationary. I could have them moved if needed. Perhaps develop the technology necessary to remotely store your consciousness." He would need to examine the records on the positronic android, Commander Data, but it was possible.

"There was a time you didn’t believe I had a consciousness. A gender." Julian flipped the hypospray and caught it. "We all progress. You know," Julian looked down at the hypospray again, "this is the only ship in the fleet still running their EMH full time. The rest were turned off years ago. Units removed and memory scrubbed in favor of real doctors. So much of me is my memory. It informs the choices I make going forward. It's who I am. No matter who had a say in my programming. But um… I am aware this ship was rated for ten years, so I wouldn't say no to a way to leave the ship if it's ever in danger of being scrapped."

"We've made enough improvements to the Bakerstreet that her useable lifespan is a bit longer than the original ten years."

"And so we go." Julian turned the face informed by code towards Sherlock. "We love. Are loved. And remember." He laughed. "When Moriarty isn't interfering with us."

The next patient came in. Sherlock left and went back to his quarters.

John was cooking. Stirring something in a pot. Something inside Sherlock eased that he didn't know he'd been holding. John put the lid over the pot and set a control.

"It'll be thirty minutes before its ready." John pushed him back onto the couch. John straddled his lap. "I've been thinking we've been getting out of our normal routines a bit since we were married." He pressed his lips gently against Sherlock's. "Gone a little all in now that we can be open about being together." He pressed another dozen kisses to Sherlock's face. "Thought tonight I'd get back to cooking dinner."

"What you're currently doing," gasped Sherlock, bringing his hands up to John's hips, "isn't really conducive to eating dinner."

"Stew's in the slow cooker." Another kiss. "It'll be ready in thirty minutes." And another kiss. "But it'll be better in three hours."

It was delicious at midnight. Each taste a delight on Sherlock's tongue. Chewed with his teeth. Swallowed down his throat. Fueled him while he fed kisses between John's lips.

That John was naked in his lap, tactile skin against skin, was also quite delightful. Their second coupling of the night was messier than the first, but entirely nourishing to both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Spock%27s_Brain_(episode)  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Emergency_Medical_Holographic_program

**Author's Note:**

> Now pondering if I start posting the next one, or wait until after camping. If you don't see anything for a few days, I'm surrounded by lovely trees with no internet.


End file.
